Caleb Kills a Coues

A full morning of hunting turned up nothing but does and fawns - not to mention a gorgeous sunrise in spectacular country.  We were hunting our way back to the truck which we had left a few miles away and a few hours ago when we swung onto one last ridge to check a northern exposure.  As we were working our way through the oak and manzanita Caleb whispers, "I see a coyote!"  My immediate thought was that if Caleb saw a coyote he should feed it a copper wrapped breakfast of lead but I figured I should double check before I said anything.  With a little help from Caleb and my 10X glasses I located the coyote, which happened to be a deer, and buck at that.  

"Its a deer, and its a buck."  

"Really?  How many antlers does it have?"  

"Two."  

"Do you think it would be a good first buck?"

We might only have one day to hunt, and more people are joining us in the evening, which invariably complicates things... Plus, this is your first deer hunt ever.

"I think it would be a hell of a first buck.  Get ready to shoot."

By this time the buck is getting self conscious after being on display at about 100 yards, and is starting to look side to side, surveying his options for a stage exit.  Caleb drops to the kneeling position, elbow tucked against the inside of his knee.  The buck is concealed by a solitary manzanita bush.

"Which direction is he going to go?"

"Left, I think.  No, Right.  Ok shoot now!"

The rifle reports somewhere in my peripheries but I am staring intently at the buck through the glasses.  The echo of solid hit returns as I watch the buck collapse and fall over backwards, legs stretched momentarily heavenward before constricting with spasms in the throes of death.

"Nice [really nice] shot!"

Prayers of thanksgiving and a blessing for the meat preceded the photo shoot and then a rather arduous pack-out back to camp.  Another successful hunt and another addict-hunter joins the fraternity.  I love hunting Coues deer!

Quail Opener

The Phoenix Valley is a "hot spot" for Gambel's quail, and considering that this bastard summer heat has yet to give up the ghost and make way for fall, that is a pun most certainly intended.  My brother in law Johnny came to town for a brief visit this past weekend to interview for graduate school, but we took advantage of the opportunity and grabbed the shotguns and a three day license for him and headed out to a new spot I had been pondering.

The heat was already radiating through the semi-riparian area when we arrived.  Although I was prepared for a hot hunt, I was still surprised at how quickly my brow was laced with sweat which stung my eyes and permeated my shirt.  I was also surprised by the thrilling sound of flushing quail much sooner than I expected; we were scarcely 100 yards from the truck.  Not one to miss an opportunity I swung on the nearest bird and watched it crumple in the air after the shotgun's report.  Trying to find a sustained lead I shot at a second bird only to realize too late that my lead had been short and the bird was unscathed.  As I mentally scolded myself another bird flushed, the head feather and darker colors identified it as a cock bird.  Instinctively I snapped the shot and the bird collided with the earth in front of me and that was that.  I wiped my brow with a grin, thinking "Damn this heat, but thank God for quail season."

The day progressed, and the quail were on fire, not to mention everything else in the ephemeral wash system that we were walking.  My shooting gradually worsened as I worked through the better part of two boxes of shells, but Johnny shot quite well and displayed conservative wisdom on avoiding the longer shots over thick cover that I seem to possess no self control for abstaining from.  The two of us brought a total of 15 birds to hand, and with a few unfortunate cripples we had collected our limits and concluded the quail opener.

Saturday found us back in the same spot and a few hours earlier than the day before, but we could already tell that it was going to be even hotter than our previous hunt.  We swung out wider to avoid some other hunters and encountered even larger coveys than the opener produced, but already these birds were acting jumpy, almost like the educated birds of late season hunts.  They were flushing a hundred yards or more in front of us, and the only shooting we had was over singles that flushed after the covey had already disappeared.    This afforded us the opportunity to shoulder our guns a little less and talk a little more, which was a welcome change.  It was good to catch up and enjoy a long overdue conversation that the field seems uniquely suited to offer.  With four birds in the vests we called it a day around noon and headed back home.

One of the best parts of hunting with family is sharing the harvest with family afterwards.  We prepared the quail in a kabob style by wrapping the filleted meat with a little cream cheese in a strip of bacon.  Hard on the arteries but oh-so-good for the heart!  I am so thankful to be able to share these kinds of experiences with friends and family, to take a morning and bring from field to table such a wonderful fare.